


confessions (we were too late)

by luxeberries



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and More Angst, Blood and Injury, Hurt No Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad Ending, fix it fic but make it worse, i dont know what to tag this as, its actually worse than the original, its just sad, this is not a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxeberries/pseuds/luxeberries
Summary: "-and so many thoughts are going through his head but the loudest thought is Richie, Richie, Richie because he's finally right here right next to him after all those fucking years, after years of watching him on TV doing stand ups and interviews with this funny painful feeling in his chest like he'd lost something so important and special but he didn't know what. And finally... he'd remembered. Remembered the lingering touches, the darting eyes meeting across a crowded room, the fucking hammock that they always shared because Richie was a stubborn asshole and he still is. All this, and for what? To fucking die?"-a short drabble from last year when i was in my feelings
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	confessions (we were too late)

**Author's Note:**

> have fun!

There were about five minutes of the other Losers going ham on Pennywise while Eddie and Rich just sat with each other as Eds slowly died in his arms. Richie didn't stop talking for most of it. He kept his left hand pressed against the wound that wouldn't stop fucking bleeding goddammit please stop bleeding and his other hand was glued to Eddie's cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheekbone as he spoke softly - somewhat frantically.

It didn't help the panic rising in Eddie's throat. No, that was blood. Maybe both. Richie rubs his back when he spits it out, and it reminds him of when they were teens and he was vomiting in a ditch because he'd drank his weight in an attempt to forget about his fucking mother and he's just fucking hit in the chest with a brick of sadness Absently, he thinks about how badly his wound must be infected by now because for god's sake he's in a sewer and who knows where that claw had been before impaling him and so many thoughts are going through his head but the loudest thought is Richie, Richie, Richie because he's finally right here right next to him after all those fucking years, after years of watching him on TV doing stand ups and interviews with this funny painful feeling in his chest like he'd lost something so important and special but he didn't know what. And finally... he'd remembered. Remembered the lingering touches, the darting eyes meeting across a crowded room, the fucking hammock that they always shared because Richie was a stubborn asshole and he still is. All this, and for what? To fucking die?

Was Derry just fucking torturing him?

Richie knew it was because he's a man who likes other men and that meant he was a dead man. A dead, closeted bisexual with repressed feelings for his childhood best friend who was dying in his arms. Why wasn't Richie the one dying? Why is Richie the dead man if Eddie is dying? Maybe that was his punishment. Maybe Richie would rather die than see Eddie die. Maybe he wanted so badly for It to just rip his fucking head off and end it because he was so... so fucking distraught and angry and sad and tired. He had nothing to lose but Eddie and the other Losers but... Hey! Guess who he's fucking losing right now?

"Eds, Eddie-" He chokes. "Come on, man, open your eyes." Richie pats Eddie's face lightly, tilting his head to look him in the eyes.

"It hurts," Eddie whispers, voice raspy and kind of thick from both the blood in his throat and from crying. He spits out more blood, grimacing.

And maybe that sight just really fucking hit Richie in the chest because he presses their foreheads together. Eddie moves the hand that wasn't holding Richie's over the wound to the back of Richie's neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry" Richie cries, "I should've fucking- I should have pushed you out of the way or- or pulled you down- I should have-" Kissed you when we were younger; should have dragged you away with me from your fucking mom, I should have done so many fucking things but I was too damned scared and it wasn't because of the clown terrorising us.

He sighs and pulls back, finding Eddie's face contorted in pain and anger. "Please don't blame yourself for this," He whispers brokenly but firmly. "My... my death isn't-" He takes in a shaky breath. "Fuck..." He wheezes because he realised.

"Eds?" Richie worries, "Eddie-"  
He was going to die, huh? Like actually just... Die.

"Hey, Rich?" He mumbles with a sob in his throat. "What do you think happens after? Where do you think Stan is right now? What if - What if it's just nothing? Can you even imagine that? I can't. I don't want to." Eddie sobs. "Rich, I'm fucking scared."

And he doesn't know how to comfort a dying man so Richie holds Eddie's hand tighter. The bleeding isn't stopping and his jacket is doing nothing to help. He wants so badly to say Eddie isn't going to die, that he's going to be just fine, but even he can't pull off that lie.

"I'm not leaving you, I'll stay down here with you if you fucking die. I swear to god I'll fucking drag you out here myself and get you help I'm not fucking leaving you- I love you."

Eddie's quiet as he looks over his face, inspecting it for... something while Richie waits painfully for some kind of answer. He doesn't think he's going to get one. Then- "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Oh, thank fucking god. I love you too."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah dude, since like we were thirteen."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Yeah, yeah I know it's -"

Richie kisses him harder than he probably should have judging by the groan of pain Eddie lets out, but its fucking worth it despite the fact Eddie's lips are cracked and coated with blood, despite the fact he can taste the salt of tears because he's dreamed of this day for decades without knowing and it's finally happened and it-

It won't last.

"I can't fucking believe... if one of us had just fucking manned up and said something - fuck we probably wouldn't even be here," Eddie says. "And now I'm fucking-"

Richie kisses him again, just to shut him up because if he hears those words one more time his heart is going to shatter.

When the Losers finally take down It, Richie stays with Eds because he's a stubborn asshole.

When they try to pull him out, he refuses, resists, does everything he can to stop them from moving him, becoming just as dead of a weight as Eddie. He apologises. To them, to Eddie. Bev pleads with him, but he just can't. They drag her out instead.

The building collapses around him.

**Author's Note:**

> i did genuinely make myself upset rewriting this. i wrote the rough drabble last year, but i made edits and pretty much reworked it all today because.. man its been sitting in my drafts since the film came out. 
> 
> thanks for reading, even though its so short!
> 
> comments and kudos are very much appreciated.


End file.
